Broken Crown
by violaqueen93
Summary: Clint was all set to replace the Winter Soldier when HYDRA unexpectedly collapsed. What does an assassin do without an agency, and why does a certain red headed nuisance keep popping up? Post CATWS, Pre AoU. Clintasha AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Disclaimer: I own nothing Avengery at all, I am poor. Plus I want to extend credit to the brilliant William Dietz for major inspiration for this work, as well as Mumford &amp; Son's for their inspiration as well. **

* * *

Dr. Jacobs shifted uncomfortably, staring down at the prone body the medical techs strapped down on the gurney. "Was all this necessary?"

The woman stared at him, faint amusement crossing her face. "He's perfect Doctor, you said so yourself, did you not?"

He did, God help him, but he did. The return of Captain America sent HYDRA doctors into a tizzy- given the relationship between Steve Rodgers and their weapon, the Winter Soldier, seeing the Captain could theoretically cause untold damage to Barnes's psyche, rendering him useless for all intents and purposes. Therefore, Jacobs, the newest HYDRA associate, had been tasked with finding a replacement.

He had spent hours combing through personnel records of both SHIELD and other intelligence agencies throughout the world. Due to the urgency of the situation, to find a replacement for Barnes before him and Captain America had any contact, they needed a candidate already trained as an assassin and a ghost in the system. Clint Barton had made the shortlist, but after reading his file Jacob knew he had found the one. Not only did Barton meet the skills requirement, but he seemed to have little to no emotional connections with other people who might notice his absence. Also of interest was Agent Barton's previous brainwashing by the demigod Loki-though his mind was eventually restored to its natural state, his mental defenses were bound to be damaged. That would make it easier for HYDRA reconditioning treatments to take hold.

Selection of Barton as the candidate was quickly approved by the HYDRA higher ups, and everything snowballed so fast from there. Given falsified orders, Agent Barton was captured and brought to HYDRA facilities to begin his reconditioning treatments. Jacobs had expected them to start on the regime of mind altering drug cocktails he had specifically engineered for Barton, but instead they had dragged him down to the interrogation chamber and tortured the man. He had protested, but was told that it served as a test to whether or not the man could hold up to the physical discomfort before being introduced to the psychological trials. Horrified, nothing he said stopped HYDRA from torturing Barton to near death for several days before finally removing him to the medical wing.

Now, staring down into the medical bay with his immediate superior by his side, Jacobs watched them administer the unneeded sedative to the broken, battered body of the man on the table and felt acid curling in his stomach. "Is this right?"

* * *

"This is what is required." The woman answered, her voice sharp. She looked at Jacobs and rearranged her face into what he supposed is her version of a reassuring smile. "Doctor. I know it's hard for you here sometimes, being new, but let me assure you that everything we do here serves a greater purpose. A purpose that we all must make sacrifices for."

Jacobs turned away, his eyes fastened on Agent Barton's too still body. Sacrifices indeed.

* * *

He is professionally trained in resisting psychological manipulation, but he knows his limits and is well versed in the techniques and drugs favored by HYDRA, and how terrifyingly effective they are even on the strongest of minds. He will capitulate to their ideology eventually; he isn't a fatalist, just a realist, and he can't waste time hoping for an outcome that isn't feasible because it's not a question of if he'll crack, but when. As futile as it may be though, it just isn't in him to give up without a fight and so he gathers everything that makes up the core of his existence- his sense of duty toward humanity, his grief at the loss of his brother, his skill with a bow, and his bond with Natasha- and buries it deep within himself. There, sheltered behind the armored walls of his identity, he musters his strength for what he knows will be the hardest fight of his life.

* * *

Barton's body hadn't stopped shaking since they administered the first dose. Dr. Jacobs studied the machine readouts and glanced with concerned eyes over to where a medical tech sponged the perspiration off the man's brow.. Mind altering drugs were a tricky business- a strong enough mind could potentially fight off any chemical changes to it, but a dose too strong would undoubtedly cause serious cognitive damage and leave the subject a drooling vegetable. He adjusted the dosages and silently urged the man to give up, to give in, and give himself a chance. If he continued to fight...Dr. Jacobs ran a hand over his scalp, unsure of the new-found twisting in his gut.

* * *

Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Special Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D.

His abused body has long since faded from his awareness. Now the physical pain only exists as a threat to his concentration in the lightning fast drama playing out in his head between his own consciousness and HYDRA, a fierce battle where no quarter is asked and none given. He is careful to maintain a wall to impede HYDRA's attempt to conquer his mind, repeating his name over and over, but it requires near perfect focus, a focus that grows increasingly harder to achieve the longer he remains in HYDRA's possession.

Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Special Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D.

* * *

"Give in Barton." Jacobs whispered to himself. He was alone in the medical ward, the nonessential staff gone for the night, but he found he couldn't leave HYDRA, not while Agent Barton still lay fighting. At that point the doctor couldn't have cared less about the effectiveness of HYDRA's reconditioning. All he cared about was the well-being of his patient. He had thought the trauma of Loki's brainwashing would break down Barton's defenses enough for the drugs to slip through with minimum damage, but it seemed he had underestimated the man's fortitude. He was fighting it, so hard and so repelled by the drugs that in normal circumstances Jacobs would have stopped the treatments immediately, but not this time. It was essential the drugs took in the next few days or Barton's body would start to shut down, all resources and energy devoted toward fighting off the mental assault. Sympathy and pity welled up in Jacob's breast as he continued his bedside vigil

* * *

He is crumbling through a combination of exhaustion and the relentless assault, and he is forced to pull back, to retreat further back into his mind and allow HYDRA to consume that which he is unable to protect. The laughter of a childhood friend. The feeling of the hot desert sun on his face, the shaking in his hands as he stares down into the staring eyes of the first human he ever killed. The scent of cotton candy and popcorn in the air and the warmth of a woman's hand held tightly in his own. He tries to scream as they are ripped away and discarded. He- Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Special Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D. - doesn't know what they take when he is forced to yield. All that's left is a gaping sense of loss, and a newfound determination to protect what is left of his fragmented psyche.

Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Special Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D.

His mind's defenses are weakened from Loki's twisted magic and earlier torture and have become easier to shatter, to overcome and destroy. No matter how he struggles to counteract this weakness, HYDRA's insidious tendrils of falsehoods and lies burrow deep into his mind as he is unmade in ways he instinctively recognizes cannot be undone. Memories flash by faster and faster- the taste of his favorite meal, running for his life through the streets of Hong Kong, riding a bus to some long forgotten destination- and he doesn't even have time to feel the loss so fast is the HYDRA mental assault. He puts up a valiant fight, but soon all that stands to hinder the progress of HYDRA's indoctrination are the integral facets of his existence, his reasons for living.

He clings to his name, the only lifeline that leads back to what once he was, and, like a wounded animal, snarls and digs in his heels against the invasive presence.

Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Special Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D.

* * *

"Ma'am. It's been six days. I don't believe his mind will accept the drug before doing irreparable harm."

"Keep him on the regime!"

Dr. Jacobs stared at her. "I must protest. The drugs we have him on now, they're only supposed to be administered for 5 days maximum. We've already exceeded that limit, and-"

"Has any progress been made?"

"Well, yes ma'am, he does show some signs of cognitive recalibration, but not enough to justify continuing the use of-"

"Then continue the treatment."

"But he'll die!"

"And then we'll find another candidate." Dr. Jacobs fell silent as the woman got to her feet, moving around the desk to stand in front of him. "He'll either break, and we'll move onto the next phase, or he won't and we'll find someone more suitable." Her eyes flashed. "So go, and continue the drug or we'll have to find a new psychiatric consultant as well."

Jacobs turned and left without a word, returning to Agent Barton's bedside. She would obviously follow up on her threat, and with his daughter Mina's life on the hook he couldn't afford to take chances. With shaky fingers he loaded up the next dosage of the drug and injected it into Barton's IV line, wincing in sympathy with the man's convulsions as the chemicals took hold in his bloodstream and praying that the man's end- either in cognitive conversion or in death- was quick in coming.

* * *

….His hands curl around the bow, his fingers adjusting to the unfamiliar grip as Jacques stands behind him, the older man coaching him through stringing, arming, and aiming an arrow at the target ten yards downrange. He draws the bowstring back-

Gone.

…..He hears the fighting from his bed, no matter how hard he tries to block it out, of Daddy and Mama screaming at one another. Feeling his way across the room, he crawls into Barney's bed, who, after a moment of sleepy confusion, shifts to make space on the small twin mattress and tucks him in securely before rolling back over and falling asleep once more. He cuddles into his brother's warmth, and knows that as long as Barney is around, everything will be okay. He shuts his eyes, but is jolted awake when-

Gone.

Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Special Agent, S.H.I.E.L.D.

* * *

Day 9. Every cry of agony, every whimper of pain uttered by Barton reverberates in Jacobs mind long after he goes home for the night.

* * *

….Pride fills him as he stands and shakes Agent Fury's hand, accepting SHIELD's offer of a better life, fighting to protect and-

The memory, like so many others before it, is ripped away and leaves him disoriented and confused, floating in the misty confines of his mind.

Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawk...

What was it again? Barton, Clinton. Codename: Hawkeye. Yes, Hawkeye, that was it. Wasn't it?

* * *

Dr. Jacobs placed Agent Barton on life support after he unexpectedly went into cardiac arrest. Though they managed to get him stabilized, Jacobs instructed the technicians to prepare for further emergencies. Like he had predicted, Barton's body was shutting down instead of accepting the drug.

Jacobs was secretly pleased.

* * *

Memories of his brother flash before his eyes, interspersed with various missions he has executed successfully. His mind seemed to be moving slower, dragging, as the memories and recollections that make him who he is are slowly peeled away. A sense of panic rises within him, though he can't remember why.

Barton.

Barton, Barton, Barton.

There is something else, some kind of phrase that goes along with it, he knows it. Isn't there? Something that goes along with it, that is vitally important. Wait, why is what important?

What is he even trying to remember?

An invading presence that he vaguely recalls feeling before presses in from all sides, exuding elation and victory.

* * *

"Dr. Jacobs! Quickly!"

Jacobs ran down the passageway, the panicked voices of the medical techs driving him on. Even though he wanted nothing more to let Barton die an honorable death, the physician in him wouldn't allow him to sit and do nothing while a fellow human being lay dying. Even more pressing was the contingent of HYDRA higher-ups on their way down, spooked by the fact that their new toy was on the verge of being taken from them. They could all go to hell as far as Jacobs was concerned.

He rushed up to Barton's bedside, assisting the medical techs in strapping Barton down as the man thrashed and shook, his face a rictus of pain.

One tech was more panicked than most. "Doctor, what should be do?"

Jacobs gripped the edge of one of the life support machines. "Nothing. This is it. He'll either accept the drugs or he won't."

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the woman nod.

* * *

One set of memories remains that connect him back to what he had been, and he starts as the image of a woman fills his mind's eyes, her eyes soft and concerned as he struggles against his own mind.

"_Clint. You're going to be okay."_

With a sudden burst of clarity, he senses the invaders clutching at the memory and is overwhelmed at the sudden defiance that fills him. He won't lose her, can't lose her, and he wraps himself around the memory of the woman and screams _NO!_

Slowly, like flames consuming a piece of paper, the last remnants of what he had been are burned away.

* * *

The bay was unusually quiet, the man now limp and seemingly peaceful. Dr. Jacobs sighed and smoothed a hand over Barton's forehead before striding over to the HYDRA bigwigs. "The drugs took ma'am. Agent Barton will live."

The woman and the others all murmured in apparent delight, but Jacobs found he couldn't take any pleasure in his patient's survival. It had been touch and go for a bit, the man's mental strain almost too much for his body to take, but the drug eventually overpowered any resistance and stabilized normal functions. An overwhelming sense of revulsion rose up within himself, and he fought the bile rising in his throat. The drugs had taken. Agent Barton would now be loyal to HYDRA, fighting for the greater purpose, for the preservation of humanity.

No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew the truth deep down. The moment when Barton had succumbed to the drugs was the moment Dr. Jacobs had damned his own soul to Hell.

* * *

Clint sits up, eyes roaming the HYDRA medical bay. The techs want to run a few tests on his cognitive functions, and he quietly complies with their requests, walking the length of the bay, defusing a bomb, and neutralizing the computer generated assassin they throw at him in a sim mod, among other tests. There's a slight buzzing at the back of head, as if something's not quite right, but he is a professional, and he banishes the niggling feeling of doubt to the back of his mind while he completes the tasks the HYDRA techs have laid out for him without complaint. They clear him for duty, and he is given instructions on where to report to next to receive his orders for his first mission.

As he leaves the medical bay and before his mind automatically shifts toward planning the mission, he isn't sure why he ever resisted HYDRA's teachings in the first place. He isn't sure why he ever resisted at all.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two months ago_

"Where are you going exactly?"

Clint shook his head at her as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. "I told you, I don't know yet. I have to go to a briefing later for the rest of the details. And no, I don't think they would be happy if you came along too."

Natasha grumbled as she bent over to retrieve a pair of carelessly discarded socks. "We haven't worked a job together in weeks," she complained, yanking on the socks with a viciousness that suggested they had personally wronged her. As much as she tried to keep the outside world from spoiling the cheerful apartment they shared together, sometimes work frustrations spilled over. "Plus Fury refuses to tell me why he wants that data on that ship. This is so typical of SHIELD, and-"

"Hey, you're not actually worried about this op are you?" Clint drawled as he swung his legs around the bed and pulled her onto his lap. "Cap will be with you, he can handle everything else while you get the data. Piece of cake."

"That's just what I'm worried about," Natasha sighed as and folded her hands over his as Clint nuzzled her neck. It had been a wonderful couple of days, just the two of them relaxing after several successful missions. They had watched movies, played video games, and went on leisurely runs through the city and explored the back streets and vibrant communities that lay hidden from the public eye. Clint had even cooked her dinner one night, surprising her with the newfound culinary skill he had acquired on his last mission. It was over now though, the happy bubble popped by SHIELD's untimely mission planners. "Fury told me not to tell anyone about the data recovery, especially Steve. As far as he knows this is just a hostage recovery operation."

He was quiet for a moment. "He has his mission, you have yours. If they choose not to tell him about it, that's not your fault Nat. That's on them, not you."

Clint's voice was light in tone but she knew he spoke his words in all seriousness. She hated the thought of lying, even by omission, to one of the few people she had some measure of respect for. Steve was so damn honorable all the time, it was one of the things she admired about him. Everything was so clear-cut, black and white, right from wrong, and for some strange reason she craved his approval, as though respect from Captain America would assuage some of the guilt she felt as of late for her non-existent ethics. "Yes, but if he finds out he'll think I purposefully lied to him. And you know how he hates liars."

He chuckled. "Then he's in the wrong line of business. Oh, I almost forgot." Clint quickly kissed Natasha's forehead before sliding her off his lap and jumped up, crossing the room to rummage through one of the dresser drawers before withdrawing a rectangular box and offering it to Natasha as he sat down next to her. "I had this specially made."

Surprised, she looked at the proffered box with a quizzical expression before taking it. Clint seemed almost nervous as she opened the box, plucking up the delicate gold chain and studying the tiny arrow attached. The craftsmanship was incredible, the fletching and bindings on the arrow clearly visible and the chain felt smooth as satin as she ran it through her fingers.

Clint shifted uncomfortably. "I know you don't really wear much jewelry, not practical, I know, but I figured, hey, we haven't been on that many missions together recently and I have those sunglasses you got me, I mean this doesn't do anything else, it's just a necklace but -"

His babbling was cut off as Natasha pressed her lips to his. "I love it, Clint. Thank you. Can you get the clasp?"

"Yes, of course." Clint sounded relieved. Natasha gathered up her hair to the side and turned away, feeling the soft puff of Clint's breathing on the back of her neck, his fingers fumbling against her skin as he manipulated the small clasp. He exhaled and leaned back, a satisfied note in his voice. "I think I got it."

Letting her hair down, she got to her feet to look at her reflection in the mirror. The small arrow glinted just at the base of her neck, winking and shining in the morning light and a lump came to her throat. She didn't accept gifts that often, they made her uncomfortable and most were impractical, but she knew just how much her wearing the necklace must mean to him. She touched the gold arrow charm, her eyes meeting Clint's in the mirror.

He smiled.

* * *

_Present Day_

"We will find him Natasha. I promise you that."

Natasha didn't answer, preferring to stare out the window, her fingers lightly caressing the tiny gold arrow as Maria navigated through rush hour traffic. Contacting Clint was the first thing she tried to do once all SHIELD data went public, but he had disappeared without a trace. No one she had talked to could recall where he was sent, or what his mission was, and the more she asked, the more suspicious she became. It didn't make sense, how there was no records for Clint, no specific mission planner or support staff on call for him, and he would have told her if he was going into deep cover. Something wasn't right, and a twisting in her gut pointed toward HYDRA. Visions of HYDRA's tortuous interrogations and strange mind altering experiments from the forties kept crossing her mind and elevated her to a level of fear she had never felt before, even when Clint had fallen under Loki's influence. She had seen with her own eyes what Steve's best friend Bucky had become, how brutal and ruthless and bloodthirsty they had made a man who had been, according to Steve, kind and loyal and honorable, who even _Steve_ looked up to.

Even so, she wasn't sure who she could trust. Steve was still in the hospital recuperating, and she wasn't sure what had happened with Tony, only that Pepper had forced him out of the public eye as of late. Thor was worlds away on Asgard, and Bruce needed peace and quiet, not more problems. With no other options, she turned to Agent Hill. She knew that she wouldn't have to explain herself to Maria, that the other woman would intuitively sense the strong bond she held with Clint and help her in any way she could.

She was right. Maria didn't even bat an eye when Natasha had asked for help, simply nodding and promising to look into it with what assets of SHIELD she still controlled. A single unexplained contract with a psychiatrist just outside of the city was all she could dig up on Clint's disappearance, and they had immediately set out to have a chat with the doctor, to see if he had any information that might help them.

"What the hell is that?"

Maria's confused voice jerked Natasha out of her musings in time to see the thick column of smoke rising in the air. They couldn't see much beyond the fire trucks and police cars blocking the road, but if she squinted she could just make out the small building at the end of the block.

"Jesus Natasha. I think that's Dr. Jacobs' office!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Avengery but my own headcanon. On special request for Robin371! I'll try to get another chapter up soon and wrap up the fic. I wasn't planning on making it a full fledged one. **

* * *

Clint was bored.

Like, really bored.

From the time he'd woken up from HYDRA's medical treatment, he had been going, going, going almost constantly. For some reason HYDRA had still wanted to test his abilities (even though he had been one of SHIELD's top agents, even though the many times he had run across any HYDRA agents in the past he had kicked their butts, but he wasn't going to say anything about that, no he wasn't) and so his missions had been relatively simple affairs. A few assassinations, a few data recovery operations, and a particularly weird mission that involved pretending to be a cowboy for some reason, but nothing that posed much of a challenge for him. He missed the days when every mission was fraught with danger, where every decision he made was literally the difference between life and death. Though SHIELD was a bunch of lunatics, he had to admit their mission planners were a lot ballsier than HYDRA's.

He had wanted to go on one mission to take out that smug son of a bitch Captain America, but he had been flatly denied, the HYDRA higher ups citing his "conflict of interest" in that particular mission. Arguing with them had been fruitless, and as much as he insisted that he had no compunctions about killing Cap despite him being a former teammate, they continued to stonewall all his efforts. He wasn't given the title of master assassin for nothing though, and a few recon trips into HYDRA files revealed it wasn't a conflict with Captain America they were reluctant about, it was with Cap's associate the Black Widow. When he read that, the name bounced around his head, ringing oddly. Despite his photographic memory he couldn't seem to recall why the name resonated with him so strongly, and, deeply uneasy with the feeling, had at last stopped pestering HYDRA for the op. The Winter Soldier had been given the assignment instead.

Now, with the Winter Soldier AWOL and HYDRA spread to the fucking wind, Clint didn't have much to do these days. He had considered busting the HYDRA higher-ups out of prison, but decided against it. He held no loyalty to those bastards anymore, what with their sloppy organizational leadership and lack of a proper plan B. But really though, how had HYDRA never developed a contingency plan for when the SHIELD idiots realized HYDRA had infiltrated them? They only had sixty years to do so. Plus, though he was loath to admit it, he was still nursing a bruised ego. He had been referred to multiple times as "a total failure", and "not properly suited for the job". They seemed to love the Winter Soldier, what with his non-existent personality and robotic monotone, but Clint had never in his life been described as docile or obedient. He fully supported HYDRA's ideology, but he wasn't just some goon, an attack dog to be sent out whenever they felt like it. He had too much self-respect for that shit, and he wasn't afraid to voice that sentiment when HYDRA got a little too order-happy. He was one of the best operatives on the planet dammit, and

So now he was freelancing, taking on the odd job here or there to keep his skills from getting too stagnant. He had enough money that he never needed to work again, but frankly, he'd been working in the business since someone was smart enough to hire him. Espionage was all he knew, all he really wanted to do. Several agencies had expressed interest in contracting him, but he was still weighing his options. Granted, it was nice being on his own. He picked his own missions, set his own hours, but having a parent organization did have its advantages. Advanced spy tech, a team of mission support specialists, and increased protections were just some of the luxuries he had taken for granted when he was with SHIELD and HYDRA, and he was just now realizing how many enemies he had made over the years. Still, most of the offers he had were Russian and Chinese organizations looking to have an American agent on the ground, and the thought somehow left a sour taste in his mouth. At least with SHIELD/HYDRA, his targets had been of every nationality. One offer in particular that had piqued his interest was a job offer as a ranged weapons instructor for an organization called the Red Room. He had turned it down when he realized the specific demographic of the trainees, prepubescent orphan girls, and it skeeved him the fuck out. He was used to dealing with pretty questionable stuff, but he had a line and the Red Room was definitely way beyond it.

He frowned when his alarm went off and groaned, rolling his body up into a sitting position from his prone position on the couch. He didn't want to go meet with another client right now. To be fair, he had just gotten back from an international job only thirty six hours prior, but he had a quick recovery time. He was just being whiny. Scrubbing one hand through his hair, he sighed again and heaved himself up and slouched toward the shower. Duty called.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Rodgers, please. I'm a professional." Steve looked distinctly unimpressed and Natasha couldn't blame him. They had worked closely together over the past years and he could read her better than anyone except Clint. Well, that might not be true now….

"Hey, hey, it'll be fine. The op will go off without a hitch." Natasha jumped as Steve's hand curled around hers, squeezing it tightly. She hurriedly blinked the tears out of her eyes as she mentally reviewed the plan. Based on Bruce's recommendations, it would be too risky to send someone that Clint knew and worked with closely, so Sharon was posing as a recruiting agent for the Corporation, a criminal organization that Natasha knew would be very interested in acquiring an associate with Clint's skill set. Sam would be staged in the square as close backup, while Steve and Tony would stay as over-watch and emergency backup.

She would be in the square too, though the general consensus was that it was a bad idea. She wouldn't budge on that particular detail though. Clint was, well, she wasn't quite sure what to call what he was to her except that she needed to be down in that square. Steve had tried to bully his way down into the square as well but she refused to let him. Steve was so physically large it wouldn't be hard to spot him in a crowd, and there was evidence Clint still fully recognized his former teammates. However, Natasha knew the real reason he wanted to be down in the square was to keep an eye on Sharon. The two of them had recently started to become friendlier with one another, and though Natasha was happy that Steve seemed to finally be settling down some, she didn't need an overprotective guard dog on the ground.

Hopefully Sharon would be able to sedate him without any problems, and they would be able to bundle him off to Stark Tower where Banner and a team of the world's finest psychologists/psychiatrists were in wait to reverse whatever HYDRA had done. She couldn't shake this feeling of unease though.


End file.
